Alive Again
by scully8746
Summary: I would have rated this PG-15 if it was an option; very very dark. A lifetime of memories through Buffy's eyes. Insight into the way her mind works.


TITLE: Alive Again  
  
AUTHOR: Chrissy  
  
EMAIL: scully8746@hotmail.com  
  
RATING: R, definitely. This is really angsty, guys, and suicide-on-the- brain really dark  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, just the words…. Or in this story's case, I own most of the words. Thanks for letting me borrow them, Joss… I promise I'll think about returning them soon  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Just ask. I'll probably say yes, I just want to know where it's going.  
  
FEEDBACK: It's what I live on, guys…  
  
MY SITE: http://www.geocities.com/thebuffystakehouse …. Home of all my fanfics!  
  
And now, on with the show…  
  
  
  
I can hear them. Their voices are soft, but they're excited. They've been waiting for this. I want to wake up. If I was awake, I could tell them. I could reach out and shake them. They don't understand! I can't wake up! I can't do this!  
  
They're calling my name again, but it's not my name. I know it's me, but it's wrong. It's me, but it's *not*. I can't ever be her. Be me. I *am* me, *me* isn't *her* though. It's what they don't understand. We share a body, a face, hands, our eyes are the same now, but we're different people.  
  
There's another voice now, a man. I can smell his breath, he's right up against my face. Stale, coffee, bitter. Sharp, antiseptic. Dangerous.  
  
I can't see them. My eyes are moving, fluttering back and forth, I can feel them, but I can't see. White. Light. It was dark before, so dark… I stopped remembering. I don't remember living, being alive.  
  
  
  
I know he loved me. He *had* to have loved me. Oh God. *Please tell me he loved me.*  
  
All the things he said… all the things he did… when he held me, kissed me. He said he loved me. I believed him then. I want to believe him now. Oh God, I want to believe him…  
  
"Are you going to be okay?" No. No. No. No. No… I will never be okay. I loved him. I *love* him.  
  
No, oh no. Oh God, oh no…  
  
He's a vampire.  
  
And I'm… I can't breathe.  
  
No.  
  
  
  
"You must be so disappointed in me." It's all I can manage to choke out. I can barely see through the tears in my eyes, they're threatening to spill over, I'm afraid to get out of the car.  
  
"This is all my fault." I don't have a right to cry. I did this, it's my spilled milk to weep over, but it's no use, it won't bring him back and I did it to him.  
  
I did it to… him.  
  
Him.  
  
I can't even think his name. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts; a torn bloody wound in my breast and it's my fault.  
  
Giles is talking. I'm trying to listen. Trying. "…coming months are going to be hard…" and I'm thinking about myself between every syllable. I'm sorry, Giles. I'm trying to listen.  
  
"The only thing you'll get from me is my support… and my respect." I want to laugh at him. How did I earn his respect? I had sex when I was sixteen. I ruined my life, I killed the man I love.  
  
But I don't laugh. Giles wants to help. Giles feels sorry for me. I don't want to hurt him, I don't deserve to, but I hate Giles for believing in me.  
  
I hate *him*, too. I hate him for leaving me. I hate him for all the cruelty he had inside. I hate him for never preparing me for it. I hate him for being happy with me. I hate him for loving me, or pretending to love me. I don't know which one right now… I know which one, and I hate him for making me believe it in my heart even though my heart is gone. I hate him for taking my heart away. I hate him for treating me like this. I'm sixteen, I can't deal with this yet.  
  
I hate him for not coming back. I wish he would come back, I'm only sixteen, I can't do this by myself.  
  
I forgot I'm seventeen now.  
  
  
  
"Honey, you have to come back now."  
  
Come back from where? I never left, you just don't see me here. I never forgot, it was just you the whole time. But here I am in this darkness; it was you that forgot her. Forgot me. It's me, now, I keep forgetting.  
  
My sight is better, I see them now, hovering around me like my guardian angels… but then I would have to be dead, because there's only one real Angel on this planet.  
  
I say my guardian angels, but I never chose them, they chose me and wouldn't let me go. I just want to be at peace again, but they won't let me go.  
  
  
  
What have I done?! Oh God, no, there has to be another way! Oh…  
  
All I can do is look at him, maybe my last look, and his *eyes*… oh God… I can't look away, I want to go after him, I don't care where we go, I need to know he's okay that he's with me we're together…  
  
I'm going to go after him, my feet are moving, I can't stop myself, I'm moving forward to hold him…  
  
Oh God, no.  
  
I'm alone.  
  
Where did he go?! He can't just disappear! Where did he go?! I can't see him. He's gone. I can't see him. I can't see anything, my eyes are blurry, my face is wet, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I did this, all of this and I'm sorry. I want my mommy. I don't, I *can't* anymore, but I do.  
  
She's gone, and he's gone, and I'm crying and sobbing and wondering how I managed to screw my life up this totally and completely. I'm just bawling, standing there in the mansion where he's been living for months now, and I want to find something of his to hold onto, something to make him come back, but I'm afraid, and I already feel like I'm intruding.  
  
Oh God, I have to get out of here, I can't stay here anymore, I've got to get out! Somewhere, away, I don't care, I have to leave… but what if he comes back? He was so disoriented, he didn't know where he was, or what he'd done, and what if he's scared? I need to be here for him!  
  
He's not coming back. It hits me like lightening, and I feel numb all over. Suddenly everything seems clear, but it won't stop hurting, a knife in my stomach…  
  
A sword in his stomach…  
  
No. Stop. I *cannot* go there again. But it's too late, and the image is there in my mind, I can't get it out, but I have to push it aside because thinking is good right now.  
  
My feet are moving, I don't even realize it, but now I'm out on the street again and I'm walking toward home.  
  
He saved my life, pulled a vampire from my back, behind that building over there.  
  
One foot after another.  
  
He kissed me, the last time before he… we were right up that street, it wasn't too far, maybe I could stop there…  
  
Just keep walking. Buffy, you have to make it home, just keep walking, put one foot after the other, that's it, I'm only a block away now.  
  
And then I remember. What exactly had I intended to do when I got there? Run into Mommy's arms? Sleep away the pain in my own bed? Recluse myself, in my room, chicken soup and peanut butter, and my memories?  
  
I can't go home. My bed, my room, none of it's mine anymore. Not even my mother, she's gone too. Maybe unlike him, she wants me gone.  
  
I can't go home. Where will I go? I can't talk to Giles right now. I can't talk to any of them yet. It's… how could they do this to *him*?! Curse him to some hell with a *soul*?! I knew they hated him, but how could they be so cruel to *me*? What did I do to them to make them hate me like that? The look on his face fills my mind and all I can think of is those last few moments.  
  
Kissing him again, oh God… I never thought I'd ever be allowed to… and in that kiss, his fear, I could taste it, but I knew it would be alright, I knew it would be okay because we had each other again and that was all, but it was *so much*…  
  
And then I saw it behind him and I knew what I was expected to do, and I knew… I thought it was the only choice. I thought I was doing the right thing. (Right for whom?!)  
  
And now I wonder… now I wonder if maybe the portal would have closed with only his blood… after all, it opened that way. I'm trying to convince myself that I made a mistake, that I did something wrong, because I need a *reason*… all this guilt, all this horror over what I've done is clouding my brain, it's making me question my judgement, and I have to believe that it was the wrong choice, because I need him here with me.  
  
I can't stay here. I'm not wanted, and I don't want it. I need somewhere far away. I need somewhere to forget. I need a quiet place where I can be alone while I wait for death.  
  
  
  
Warm. Rough. Tight, I feel claustrophobic, and when I look down I can see my bellybutton. I haven't worn real clothing in so long now. But maybe it wasn't so long. Maybe it was only long in my head. A lot of things are only in my head, that's what they tell me.  
  
They tell me a lot of things. They're telling me a lot of things right now, about my clothes, too. About my "episodes", about the medication, about who will take care of me and who I can call. Doctor appointments and chick-ins and I wonder if they think I'm listening.  
  
It's not for me, none of it's for me. They can't think I'm listening because they can't make themselves believe I know how to listen anymore. But it's not my attention span they doubt, only my mental capacity.  
  
I'm delusional. Schizophrenic with violent tendencies, I heard that on TV once, but I haven't hurt anyone in a long time, and I never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, except for him…  
  
Who didn't deserve it… I like to play God. I've noticed this about myself, while they were busy with their tests and doctors. I like to be in control, even sometimes when it's at someone else's expense (but that's still not violent). It might be why I'm here, why I'm back in this world. At somepoint, I think I must have made a choice. I wonder when?  
  
And now I'm finally leaving. Now it won't be for nothing. Now I'll be able to find peace, without the doctors and medication and supervision.  
  
I hope.  
  
  
  
She's just standing there, and it terrifies me. What if she's not ready for me to come back? What if she hasn't forgiven me? I have to struggle to keep my face impassive, inside my heart is crying. Please forgive me. Please, don't just stand there. Please say something. Please *do* something.  
  
I stand there, staring into her eyes, waiting for absolution. For the first time in an unbearably long summer, I'm looking at my mother's face, and what I see frightens me. There are bags under her eyes, her cheeks are gaunt and bony, and there are new wrinkles I don't remember. Everything about her seems more delicate, more frail. I don't remember her looking this… old. Even her posture… she used to stand so straight, so proud. Did I do this?  
  
I don't know what to do. How do I make this summer right? I need some encouragement. I want to tell her. Anything. Invite me into my own goddamn house!  
  
It's not fair even to think it, and I know it, but it's not something I can help right now. I'm panicking, I know I am. This is all wrong. However I spent my summer, whatever I did wrong, I'm still the Slayer, and I shouldn't feel this… this…  
  
Frightened? Is this fear? It must be; what else would it be? I feel like a fool, and I wonder if she thinks I'm a fool, too. I wonder if she thinks of me at all. I don't know. Maybe she really didn't want me to come back. She even said so, after all. She told me to not even think about it, and here I am standing on her doorstep.  
  
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe she isn't ready. Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe I should have called first.  
  
And then suddenly her face changes, she's smiling and crying at the same time, and she's holding me in her arms and I feel *so safe*… I'm home again.  
  
  
  
They want me to call them "Mom and Dad". They say they're my parents, and it's true, I have her memories as well as my own and she called them Mom and Dad. I don't want to hurt them, they really are nice people… most of all, I never want to go back. I can't find him, find any of them if I'm locked away.  
  
And so I call them Mom and Dad.  
  
I'm making a lot of compromises in my new life. I'm not allowed to be alone anymore. Even when I was locked up, I got to be alone. When I was locked away, I was always alone. Now I never am. Even when I sleep at night, they come in to check on me. When I go to the bathroom, "Mom" waits outside the door.  
  
They won't give me a pair of scissors or let me go near a real mirror without supervision. They even had a metal sink installed in my room.  
  
Sometimes I can't help laughing at them, so consumed in groundless worries about little old me. Sometimes it's just so funny, I have to laugh.  
  
Sometimes it's just so smothering I have to scream.  
  
But I can't lose myself yet. I have to find them, no matter what. It's why I'm here. I have to keep telling myself that, no matter how long it takes. I have to wait for my moment, and then I'll strike.  
  
I just have to wait for the right moment. I can't sneak out, not even through my window; it was the first thing I tried to do. They nailed it shut, and installed shatter-proof glass. I've learned to be more careful.  
  
But school's starting soon. I never thought I would be happy about it, but it will get me out of this prison, it will give me some measure of freedom to exploit, however small. I can't even run the risk of skipping classes yet, not this soon.  
  
  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
He said my name! He said my name! He said my name! He's not crazy, he's sane, he's sane! I repeat it like a demented mantra in my head, over and over again as tears pour from my eyes and I feel his arms around my legs, his face pressed against my side. I can't even believe it, it's so amazing, surely it's a miracle and *thank you God*!  
  
All the nightmares he's been having… I wonder if he'll ever really forgive me. I know Angel. God, even when he's nearly insane with pain, he stays in character. He saved my life. How do I even begin with him?  
  
I love him. It burns in my gut, a solitary truth in a forest of lies. I love him, and I have to take care of him. No matter what, it will always be my responsibility to help him, and no matter what I say or do, I know in my heart that it is a burden I will never mind bearing.  
  
This man, this beautiful man who kneels at *my* feet deserves the world, and in that moment, I vow that he will have it, no matter how long it takes me or what I have to do.  
  
*  
  
Maybe that was my decision.  
  
  
  
I saw a woman today. Her name was Sheila. Sheila told me that my delusions are built around my insecurities. Sheila told me that I lack self-confidence, and build friends in my head because I'm afraid to face the outside world. Sheila told me that none of them are real.  
  
I looked at a map when I got home. Dad got so excited – Dad agrees with Sheila. He thinks I lack self-confidence, too. Dad got extremely upset when I found Sunnydale on the map.  
  
I love to watch them squirm. I can't help it, I know it's terrible, but I'm so angry with all of these people. And besides which, I really needed to find it. I needed to know that I'm not crazy.  
  
I'm *not* crazy.  
  
I hate them for doing this to me. Why can't they just help me find him, instead of trying to lock me away? Why won't they believe me? If I could just talk to him, even if it was only for a few minutes… all I need to do is *tell him*, and then maybe these horrible memories would go away. All I want to do is disappear, but I can't do it yet. I still have so much to do, and I can't even move yet. I'm just stuck, waiting, useless, helpless.  
  
How do I find him?  
  
I don't have the first clue *how* to do it, just this knowing reminder that *I have to, no matter what*. I can't deny it, and I wish it would go away. Is this my normal life? Is this me, screwing my very last chance?  
  
I don't know where to begin, it's overwhelming. I'm on my own, no one will help me and I'm *terrified*.  
  
How could they do this to me? I'm scared and alone. They call themselves my parents but *they won't help me*.  
  
  
  
I know he's less than twenty feet away, but it feels like miles… and inches, at the same time. His eyes, his hair, the tiny blemishes that mark his skin… all the unique features that make his face his own… my eyes roam his form, taking in every detail, so painfully aware that they'll soon be starved of the sight.  
  
I can see every detail, every single thing I love so dearly. My heart cries out when smoke obscures any part of him from my vision, even as my eyes fill in the missing pieces from memory. It's then that I realize it would be impossible for me to ever forget Angel's form, like forgetting language, or color, or sound. Like forgetting instinct.  
  
I long for him to touch me. A last kiss, a hug, I'll settle for a handshake. Anything to feel his cool hand wrapped around mine again.  
  
He stands there, so close and so far, holding my gaze and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am, doing the same thing I am, committing a life itself to memory. I know that once he's gone, my life will be in my memories. I feel so desperately scared, trying to come to terms with loving him only in my heart. It seems an impossible task. We've never been separated for more than months at a time – and few, at that – and I'm having a hard time believing he's really not coming back this time.  
  
He's leaving me.  
  
He's really leaving me, and he's not coming back.  
  
Help me, God. I know I have to be strong, for him as well as for myself. This has to be hard for him too, I don't want to hurt him, I've done so much already. Properties of inertia, Buffy. All you have to do is *nothing*. Just let him go. Just let him go. Just let him go…  
  
The clouds of smoke that fill the evening air shift again… and then he's gone. Really, really gone. Oh Angel…  
  
I will be strong. I've run away enough, done the wrong thing too much, and almost constantly hurt other people, and myself. I've run enough. No more.  
  
I'm the Slayer, but I'm more than that. I'm Buffy Summers, and I can be strong. I know I can do it. I have to.  
  
  
  
I did it! I did it! I did it! I can't be afraid anymore, I'm away and I'm out and I'm free!  
  
Now it's just an issue of finding something, *anything*, before they find me…  
  
Oops.  
  
Okay. Emotional radar, help me out. I used to be able to feel him, feel his presence in a room, on a street, around a corner, before I ever saw him…  
  
I realize I can't describe that feeling anymore, and it bothers me more than I'd like it to. Aside from the practical reasons (like how the hell am I going to find him now?!)… have we really grown that far apart? Maybe if it hadn't been so long…  
  
How long has it been? I don't know how long I was asleep… asleep. Is that what you'd call it? I remember my last battle, before… I remember him holding my hand, before… I remember trying to tell him, I remember wanting *so badly*… but that was all before I was… asleep. And now, it's all different. Home, Mom and Dad… I'm in school again. And all the doctors…  
  
I have too many memories. They overload my brain, I'm constantly remembering and it *hurts*. I don't want to remember any of it. I have two lives in my brain, and I wish I could forget one of them.  
  
Right now, I don't really care which.  
  
I'm so scared. I ran away. I skipped class, somehow I got away… but they'll find me. I know they will, they have the police and all of those doctors telling them how I think and feel, and how it's different, because I'm not a normal person.  
  
They'll find me. And when they do, will they put me away again? I don't think I could survive it. It would mean more time in my head, no movement… I need oxygen sometimes. I couldn't breathe there, I was suffocating.  
  
So here is the cross of my personal roads… and I don't know what to do. This could be my only chance. If I'm right and they're waiting to put me away, then this is it. If I can't find him – if he can't help me… my life is over.  
  
What other choice do I have? I may be scared, but if I turn around now… well, what if I did turn around now? I've only been gone for half an hour… what if I made something up, told them I just went for a walk?  
  
No! I can't give up! It looms before me, an abyss of despair… I know it's inevitable, because I am such a coward, but I *can't*!  
  
An alternative… I'll do anything. I need somewhere to go, someone to help me, but who is there? My memories… it was so long ago, maybe no one will remember. Then how will I find him?  
  
Dad! The alarm is ringing in my brain, my heart is pounding in my chest, it's painful, and there are butterflies in my stomach, but they're not fluttering, they're *beating me to death*…  
  
Oh God… there's nowhere to run! He's seen me, he's crossing the street and I'm trapped here between the man with the oranges and another with stolen jewelry…  
  
Oh no…  
  
  
  
Goddamn him for doing this to me! Goddamn Riley for being in my room, for bruising his face, for making me feel like I shouldn't want to hurt him…  
  
Goddamn you forever, Angel! I don't want to be *friends*! How could you do this to me? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!  
  
My voice is calm, though, as I tell him what he wants to hear. "It means a lot that you came." Now get the hell away from me, out of my town, out of my *life*! *You* wanted this, remember? And now I'm finally doing what you wanted, I'm moving on with my life, and you follow me, you come back *now* of all times!  
  
I hate you for making me feel like this. I hate you for making me love you when I absolutely shouldn't. I hate you for making me love you with all of my heart, and then expecting me to have more for someone else. This will *never* work. *Please* go away, I can't stand having you here.  
  
Oh, no. He's really going to leave. Oh no, oh no. Oh Angel, I didn't mean it! I'm so afraid to be alone, please don't leave me!  
  
No. Stop. Strong, remember? Strong. I'm strong. I. Am. Strong. I'm strong. Let him go…  
  
Numbly, I make myself move, turn my back to him, let him go. I won't look back. I won't. I need to let him go, I need it for me.  
  
Riley's waiting in my room. He's a good man. I believe in him. I believe in us. We might now have what Angel and I had… but it's better than what Angel and I have now.  
  
Nothing. (How could we *ever* have *nothing*?!)  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Riley, I have to tell you something." That's good. Keep my mind on the mission. It's bad, but it's still better than… I know it'll hurt him, and I'm sorry, really I am, but… but that's all. I'm *sorry* for him, and nothing else. I don't feel his pain. It's not painful for me, it's a *twinge*… That maybe, is more painful than the news I'm about to deliver. He can't *ever* know.  
  
But the look on his face… I wonder if maybe he already does. No, I can't lose Riley. I can't be alone right now. "If you're going to break my heart, do it fast…" No he doesn't know, but… oh my God, does he think Angel and I…? But then Angel would go evil… does he really think I would do that to him? I may love Angel, but I would never *cheat*… and after he… with *Faith*… how can he even *think* that about me?  
  
"Have I *ever* given you a reason to think you couldn't trust me?" I have to know. He can't honestly think… I love Riley. Maybe not with all of my heart (it doesn't seem to be mine to give anymore) but I love him. I would never hurt him.  
  
"No." He sounds guilty… but hesitant at the same time. He doesn't really believe me…  
  
"Then why with the crazy?" If this is the way our relationship is going to be… maybe this isn't really fair to him…  
  
"Because I'm so in love with you I can't think straight." Oh, *good* answer! Oh my God… he loves me. He loves me, he really does. And he forgives me. Oh…  
  
But in that moment… oh, the anguish is unbearable. I feel like a total fraud, and worse. A man like Riley deserves someone who does have control over their heart, and can give it all to him.  
  
I don't, but I'm selfish, I always have been…  
  
I don't want to be alone.  
  
  
  
I guess I blew it. They won't let me out of their sight now. It could be worse. At least I'm not back *there*…  
  
I just want to find him. Please God, please just let me do that, it's only one little thing, it won't hurt anybody… I need help. I can't do this by myself, I tried and I failed.  
  
While they were dragging me back, I saw a woman in the street. She looked at me, and I could tell she felt sorry for me, but she didn't come over to help. Why? If "Dad" had been trying to murder my body, the policeman on the corner would have helped me. So would the lady on the street, and the fruit vendor. But because he's only trying to murder my *mind*… why is the body more important than the soul? Why is it okay for them to keep me locked in my room? Because a doctor couldn't accept a reasonable possibility? *I* couldn't accept it for so long… and maybe that's what made me crazy.  
  
I'm not crazy anymore, though. I know exactly what I have to do, but they won't let me do it. I'm not crazy yet, but maybe I will be soon. In a way, maybe it would be better that way. Then my soul would be free of this body. Not dead… just free. I want to be free again.  
  
I just don't want to be alone anymore. I would give a limb – although it's not really mine to give – for one of my friends. I want Willow and Xander, telling me I'll be okay, that I'll figure something out. I want this to be a bad dream.  
  
I want my mommy.  
  
  
  
"Mom?" Oh no…  
  
"Mom?" No, it's a mistake. This can't be happening… stop thinking it! You're so melodramatic! Shut up! It's not true!  
  
"Mommy?" No no no no no no no no no… Oh God, she's just asleep, she has to be.  
  
Why are her eyes open?  
  
A phone, a phone, have to call 911. That's what you do, right, call 911?  
  
I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do! Stop it! Stop panicking, I need to think!  
  
911. Emergency. Yes, this is my emergency… PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE! Where the hell are you, I need help!  
  
Oh good, thank God… help me… Stop. Deep breath. Stop stuttering. Speak clearly. Mom needs you.  
  
CPR! Oh no, I should have thought of that before… damn it, I should have thought of that before! Right, tilt the head back…  
  
Why is she so cold?  
  
Why is she so pale?!  
  
WHY ARE HER EYES OPEN?!  
  
Calm down, she'll be okay. Help… right… "She's cold." Help me! Help me please! Why are her eyes open?  
  
She tells me to wait. Wait, do *nothing*?! No, I have to help her! But the ambulance will be here soon. Good. Okay. They'll know what to do. And even if she is… they have those things, the electric shock thingies. This is good. Calm. I'll help. Good…  
  
Why are her eyes open?  
  
Stop it! Stop it now! You're always so melodramatic… she'll be *fine*, just stop thinking it, or else…  
  
How could this happen?! She was okay, she was *good*! The cancer was better, she was okay…  
  
Oh thank God… sirens. Ambulance. "She's in here!" They come into our home so slowly. I was expecting… I don't know. Speed, and green pajamas and a stretcher… maybe music, like on TV.  
  
"Clear!" I realize the man is using the electric shock paddles… that, at least, is familiar. They're like the magic wands of life and death on TV. I'm so happy. They've used the paddles, so now her heart will start beeping on the… well, there's no monitor attached to her, but she'll get better. I know have to believe she'll get better.  
  
"Nothing…"  
  
I want to laugh at the man, and slap him at the same time. He doesn't have nothing! We don't have nothing! *I* don't have *nothing* -- I have my mother, she's right there, can't he see her?! She'll be fine!  
  
"I'm sorry." Oh God. Oh nononononono…  
  
…I'm ready to wake up now.  
  
"…don't move the body…"  
  
THE *BODY*?! The *body*, you *asshole*?! That's not a body, that's my *mother* you're talking about! She's not a thing, some *body*, she's a person, she's my mother!  
  
Why are her eyes open?  
  
This can't be happening to me… I'm only twenty, I don't know how to take care of myself, I *need* her… oh God…  
  
How am I going to do *any* of this? Somebody has to take care of Dawn, *I can't be a parent!* Oh God, somebody has to *tell* Dawn…  
  
Tell Dawn what? That Mom is… that she's…  
  
I can't do it. I *can't do it*. Mommy, I need you…  
  
  
  
They're making me talk to a counselor now, even more often than before. At lunch, Mom comes in to school to eat with me. I'm not allowed to talk to strangers.  
  
The other kids avoid me like I smell bad or something. It's okay. I'm used to it; I should be, by now. I can't pay attention in class. I've heard most of it before, and what I haven't… I don't care about any of it. All I want to do…  
  
Stop. I can't go there. I just need to concentrate on today. If I say that, if I even have it on my mind today, it will be harder for me. She can see into my brain; she'll know if I'm even thinking it.  
  
I cannot be locked away again.  
  
Dad guides me by the arm, his hand on my elbow. A security guard follows us at a "discreet" distance, he thinks I don't notice.  
  
I notice everything.  
  
We're stepping on to the elevator now. The walls are all stainless steel, shiny and clean. No blood – no mirrors, but it reflects anyway. My hair is stringy, thin and dark. The bags under my eyes are heavier than I remember, and I can't help but notice how gaunt my body is. Where a healthy form used to be, now there's only bone and the skin barely covering it. I think I used to be pretty, but sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wonder what he ever saw in me. Sometimes I wonder when I lost whatever it was.  
  
  
  
Cold. Hell is supposed to be a furnace, burning you alive, but here… I'm so cold now, all the time. There's no warmth for me, since I've returned – since they brought me back. They brought me back to freeze alive.  
  
I don't want to be cold anymore. It might be why I haven't told them yet – I wondered if they could warm me up, but it hasn't happened. I'm still cold, and I'm tired, and I want it all to go away, like it was before.  
  
Willow and her magic. When I found out, I didn't care about friendship; I wanted to kill her. I wanted to strangle her with my bare hands, I wanted her to know… but I didn't. Of course. It's part of being the Slayer, that murderous rage that lurks just beneath the surface. Or maybe it's not the Slayer at all. Maybe it's just Buffy Summers. This Buffy Summers, the new one. The Buffy Summers they brought back to live on this hellhole.  
  
I want to go home. I want to be at peace again, like I was before. I'm just so *tired*, it's not even in my head, it was born with me, in my bones, this sold, hungry ache.  
  
But I'm still her. At least a part of the old Buffy Summers resides in this flesh they re-grew, and she tells me to be patient, that it's my duty, that I don't deserve peace if I was brought back, that I must protect them…  
  
Self-righteous bitch.  
  
I don't want to protect them. That Buffy, telling me they meant well, and I can't help but believe it.  
  
So I'll wait. I'll be patient, but I don't think I'll ever forgive them. For all the times they've left me hanging, for all the times they've hurt me before, this is the final slap in the face. To take away the one thing I craved, the one thing I've fought for so long and hard, just as I finally had it…  
  
Did they think I jumped off that platform to save the world, to save Dawn? Hardly. I jumped for *me*. It wasn't heroic, it wasn't brave… it was suicide. Ugly and painful and harsh, every sharp edge that word carries, every stigma tied on, I was all of those and I was *ready*. I'd waited my days, I'd counted them as they dragged by, I counted the minutes even, and I wanted it *so badly*.  
  
And now…  
  
Now I'm back at the beginning, a tiny mouse on a pinwheel in a cage, trying desperately to get away, to break free, only to remain in exactly the same place.  
  
And meanwhile, all they can do is stare through the glass and point at me…  
  
I'm tempted to do it, to make them watch while the life they magically recreated drains away again. It would be a fitting end, and maybe then they would understand… but I won't. That Buffy, the old Buffy, the one with these ridiculous notions of forgiveness and friendship and "feelings"…  
  
Another f-word is coming her way…  
  
She's in my head, the only conscience I have left, and even while I want to give her that other f-word, I know I'll never be rid of her.  
  
  
  
He's stepping off of the elevator as we get on. All I can do for a long moment is stare – he hasn't changed a bit. His beautiful silky dark hair that I want to run my fingers through… those gorgeous chocolate-brown eyes, inviting me to drown in their depths… most of all, that faint hum radiating from his skin, singing the joyous song of a beautiful, loving *soul*… Then he looks at me, confusion sketched across his features… oh God, I can still read him so well…  
  
"Is there a problem, ma'am?" I freeze, my mind racing back to that first night in the alley behind the Bronze. It's him! Oh, he remembers! He remembers me, he does!  
  
I can't help it, I begin to laugh, and at the same time, I can feel tears coursing down my cheeks. "Angel," I gasp, barely able to utter his name. I can't believe this… It feels like a dream, I'm expecting to wake up any moment but *it's real, I know it's real*! I can't believe I've actually found him!  
  
I throw myself at him, just wanting, needing to feel his arms around me again, damn the consequences. I've found him, and I know he'll help me, I know he'll love me, and nothing else matters, ever.  
  
I cling to him so desperately as I feel Dad's hands on my arms, pulling me back. Angel's grip is awkward, pushing me away from him (pushing me away?) gingerly.  
  
"No!" I cry, just trying to make them understand. "It's okay! Angel, it's me, please help me, please don't let them take me!" Oh God, now I want to wake up… this can't be all of it, this can't be our meeting, this can't be it… My stomach clenches in panic at the look on his face: he doesn't believe me. "Don't you recognize me?" I cry out, and the anguish I can hear in my voice is as real as I've ever felt it. "Oh God, Angel, you have to know! I need your help! It's me! Angel, *please*, it's me, it's Buffy!"  
  
His face darkens, he looks angry, and he steps away from me as the guards try to restrain me. They pull me away, but it's hard; I'm fighting back wildly, flailing arms and legs, this is my only chance! I have to make him believe me!  
  
"I'm Buffy!" I shriek, grabbing at his sleeve. I'm sobbing now, I know I am, but I'm unashamed, I don't care, I'm *desperate*. "Angel, *please*," I beg. "Angel, you *have* to believe me! Don't' let them put me away!" Oh God, if he doesn't believe me, *please* let me wake up now…  
  
He steps away again, detaching my hand. His eyes glimmer coldly as I'm wrestled onto a gurney. Dad is apologizing as I scream and scream. "Help me! Oh God, help me!" I know I'm babbling, I'm incoherent, I know, but I can't go back. I have to do this!  
  
Then I feel the prick in my arm and all I can do is whisper, one faint word, "No," as I drift into blackness…  
  
  
  
Strange. It's so strange. Strange that after all these years, I would die this way, at the hands of a person. Strange that I would die again within months of being brought back. Strange, and how ironic that I would die *now*, just as I've finally begun to see this life for the gift that it is.  
  
Poor Xander. When the bullet – a bullet! – that tiny piece of metal – hit, it stung badly, like a bee-sting, but worse. I tried to tell him, my lips were moving, but as that little piece of metal ripped into my flesh, through my bone, into my heart, the pain became more intense, and still, all I could do was groan. A faint cry, a wounded animal that knows it's dying, trying desperately, but ultimately in vain, just to let the world know that it's gone.  
  
I don't remember anything but pain after that. I knew I was moving, and I could feel Xander nearby, but it was so sharp in my chest, it was hard to breathe… it was taking all my concentration… I wasn't able to concentrate until this moment, right now.  
  
Suddenly everything seems clear again. I can see the doctors and nurses hovering over me. Sweat is pouring down their brows… their fear is written all over their faces…  
  
I'm going to die.  
  
It's okay. That, perhaps, is more startling than this knowledge that I've been given so suddenly. I shouldn't want to die… and I don't. I don't want to die. But it will be alright. I'm not afraid to die.  
  
And now, it's happened. They were worried a moment ago, but now they're leaving the room, these doctors and nurses, in their green pajamas (I teased Ben about those)… Strange. It's so strange… I thought that, this time, I would see myself. I didn't think I would be conscious of dying… but if they're leaving me…  
  
And here is Willow. I want to tell her that it's alright. I'm okay with this. She has blood on her clothing… I thought only Xander was with me… and her hair, black hair… poor Willow and Xander. I know they'll be upset, I know they'll be heartbroken. Poor Dawn… but they will take care of each other, I know it.  
  
I wait for her to cry, but instead… Instead she's saying something to me. Goodbye, maybe? No, it's something else… I listen to her words, trying to focus, but this pain in my chest… God, it's unbearable… The bullet, I feel it moving through me again, but…  
  
What is she doing to me? I can feel the bullet moving inside of me again! Willow, oh God, she's doing some sort of spell! Another resurrection? Am I dead, is she trying to bring me back?  
  
Then the pain is gone… I sit up slowly, still wary of her presence here, still wary of her movements, her words, even her breath. But despite Willow, even without her… my head swims in confusion. Am I alive then? Did she bring me back? Or did I ever die?  
  
Was that magic?  
  
Oh Willow… poor Willow. I don't know how to be around her anymore. It makes me afraid, that she would use her magic again, even if it saved my life… and at the same time, it makes me *so angry*… how could she risk it? How could she let herself do it, after what happened last time? She *promised* me!  
  
Oh God… now Xander's here too. I'm alive, then. Does it matter if I ever wasn't? If I'm alive now… no. No. I have to find Warren. I have to stop the trio. I have to save the world. Again. But I'm alive now. That's all that matters, right?  
  
  
  
I'm tired. I'm so incredibly tired, I want to fall into my bed and never wake up. The drugs do that to you. It's happened before, and I'm always so tired…  
  
But now it's worse. Now… oh no. I don't know what to believe anymore. He didn't believe me.  
  
He didn't believe me.  
  
How could he not believe me? We always had that… that connection. How could he not know it was me? How could he not believe me? And what am I going to do now? My heart feels torn in two. How could he not know it was me?  
  
Sleep. I want to curl up in a ball and die. Pull my sleeves down, hide the punctures in my skin. No more drugs, no more sedatives. I'm not crazy. What's wrong with them that they have to do this to me?  
  
I reach the door to my room, after that long trudge up the stairs. Mom guides me by the elbow, opens the door, tucks me in to my bed, pulls the covers up high to my chin. I feel like I'm six again, I can close my eyes and almost believe that she is my mother… but it's gone, that feeling when you're six. That safety, that comfort, it's gone. Now there's only despair, pity, sadness. Misery.  
  
Mom leaves, and I'm alone with my thoughts. It's dark in my room. I give in to my desire, I curl up, arms tightly around myself, trying not to disintegrate into a pile of dust myself. He didn't believe me. What will I do?  
  
My eyes are closed, I'm half asleep already when I hear something moving in my room. I'm struck with the ridiculous image of the monsters under my bed having tea together. No matter how civilized they might appear, they're snarling beasts out to murder me… and truth be told, at the moment, I don't give a damn.  
  
No surprise when I feel a hand around my neck. I know who it is before he can say a word, and I was right, he is a snarling beast in a suit. He's practically growling, spitting his words at me. I can feel the hatred he has for me, traveling down his arm, clutching my throat. The terrible pain he feels, and his confusion, his indecision. He doesn't know what to do, either.  
  
In some small way, I suppose that's a comfort to me. It's killing me surely, his indecision, but at least I'm not alone. At least I'm not the only one confused.  
  
"Who are you?" he rasps. I want to laugh, maybe I would if I could breathe, or maybe I'd cry. Doesn't he realize that I don't know either? I'm *nobody*, a freak with a mismatched body and soul. My insides are fairly screaming in pain, this friction between my flesh and spirit, constantly grating against each other, fighting for dominance, mind over matter, or matter over mind.  
  
"Why are you here?" Does he honestly believe that I'll be able to answer him? I don't know… I pity him. How confused he must be, when I don't know the answers to his questions myself. "Why did you come after me?"  
  
I don't know what to say. Anything will sound pathetic, absolutely pitiful, but this was the part I forgot to plan. It never occurred to me that he would need me to give him the answers. I suppose I thought that he would give them to me.  
  
The thoughts swirl through my brain, the lack of oxygen making me queasy, it makes my body want to fight even as my soul is content to sit and wait for death to take me. Let him kill me, then. Let him spend the rest of his life wondering, questioning himself. I'll be gone, and I hope to God it won't matter to me anymore.  
  
"Why?" he whispers again, and I can feel my heart breaking. I can see it in his eyes, he wants to believe me… that fear, it's in me too, perhaps the one thing that we share now. His desperation, his grip loosening, my inability to speak… it runs together, a crazy mishmash of thoughts in my head, it's a memory. I wonder if I will remember this when I'm gone, if I'm ever gone again… or will I come back?  
  
"Don't leave me," I say, so softly I'm afraid he doesn't hear. All he does is look at me, and I'm terrified of what I'll find in his eyes. Acceptance, hatred, it really doesn't matter anymore, I just want to see something but I'm too afraid that I won't. I wonder if he ever stopped caring, and when, or if maybe he never cared at all. I don't believe it, but I can't help myself. This is desperation, this thing that slithers through my gut, steals my breath, slows my brain.  
  
"Why?" It's all he wants to know, his only question, and I wish to God that I could answer it for him. I hate this, this pity inside of me. I never wanted to pity him, but more than that. I want to know too. I try to laugh, but I can't, I choke, because it isn't funny, it was never funny. There was never humor between us, never pity, never games. We were so passionate, before…  
  
"She's dead," he says, and he's so calm. I wish I could believe him. I wish he was right. I wish I was dead. I tell him so, and then he laughs. It's harsh, abrupt, grating, and I wish I could have been the one to do it. To laugh at us, to laugh at our relationship, our freak-show, whatever else we called it. How… dysfunctional, how cold. That we were never there for each other, that we were always gone as soon as it became important. Neither of us ever paid attention, we never took each other seriously until it was too late.  
  
Doomed. Our existence was doomed, and of course I regret that, but it's too late to change it. I remember the nights that I spent, alone in my bed, cursing my love, wishing it would disappear, wishing it would go away, sometimes wishing that he would go away, too. I didn't want complications, or trust or anything else that comes with a "relationship". Oops.  
  
And then I laugh. Because of us. Because of him. Because of it all, because I hate all of it, and even though I'm here, even though I just know I'm pissing someone up there off, I *still* wish it would go away.  
  
  
  
I killed my best friend.  
  
I killed my best friend.  
  
I killed my best friend.  
  
I can't help it. I roll it around in my mouth, trying to sound it out loud, but I can't make the words leave. She's lying there, at my feet, the blood is still wet, still so red – danger! – and I know it's real, we've been here for hours – seconds – like this, but it isn't possible.  
  
I killed my best friend.  
  
I know I had to do it. I know there was no other choice. I know it was the right thing to do.  
  
I believe I could have stopped her some other way. I believe I had more options, but I didn't think. I believe that it wasn't my choice to make, right or no.  
  
How could this ever be right? How is death *ever* right?  
  
How could I do this to her?  
  
How could she do this to me?  
  
Why did it have to end this way? Cruel. Unfair, but I have to laugh at that, even if this is a funeral. When has my life ever been fair to me?  
  
When did I start to pity myself?  
  
I'm so melodramatic. I know it. I've always known. Buffy, the drama queen, always trying to draw attention to herself, because otherwise no one normal notices. It's not like it's that big of a deal. The world isn't really going to stop turning, is it?  
  
I killed my best friend.  
  
I know that wherever she is, she still believes in me, and maybe that's what hurts the most. God, this is such disturbing déjà vu. I never thought it would happen to me again, and I *never* thought it would happen because of her. I always wondered, somewhere, if I would have to kill Angel ever again. I had a contingency plan in my brain, stored away somewhere behind my eyes. In Case of Emergency, Acknowledge Ability. It was so perfect, so simple, even though I knew I would never do it, even though I knew I would never be able to, even if I had to choose his life over mine. Even if I had to choose him over the world.  
  
I *never* thought I would do this again.  
  
I killed my best friend, and I'm so tired now. It isn't physical. The battle was easy. Somewhere along the line, she gave up. I never really wondered what it would be like to fight Willow until it actually happened, but I *never* thought it would be that easy. I remember her when we were younger, I remember in high school, and I used to worry about her. Then I realized I didn't need to. She was such a strong person, how could she give up?  
  
How could she do that to me? How could she just give up? I saw that despair in her eyes, and that death, that emptiness. That, more than the people she killed, more than her betrayal, more than any of her crimes, it was giving up that made me so incredibly angry with her.  
  
She just sat there.  
  
I could have stopped.  
  
I could have waited.  
  
I could have said something.  
  
I don't have done something.  
  
And instead I struck. Instead I showed her just how angry I was at her. I killed her so that she wouldn't give up on me, because *I* couldn't bear it. And in that moment, maybe she felt betrayed by me, more than I ever did by her.  
  
I'm sorry, Willow, wherever you are, I swear to God I am! I'm so so so so sorry.  
  
She has to know I never wanted to hurt her. She has to. She understands, I know she does.  
  
I know she does…  
  
  
  
He's gone now. Gone, but I pray that he'll come back to me. Pray. Pray, it's all I can do, but half of me *doesn't* want it. I don't know if he ever believed me, and I don't want his pity. I don't want his sympathy, or anything from him. There was a time when I would kill for his love, but it's gone now. I don't want anything from him anymore.  
  
I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if I went away. Just left. Or maybe, if I didn't leave at all. Maybe, if I didn't have to, but it doesn't work that way. I used up all of my chances. I think. And part of me is glad. Part of me is glad that I don't have another second chance to use. Part of me wants it over, done.  
  
And I'm scared. God, I'm so scared. I know I shouldn't be. I know that either way, I'll survive.  
  
Survive. What does 'survive' mean? To live? I've tried to live, but it's not survival. It was death, even while I was alive. Death. Everyone around me, who died, and then I died with them, even while my body lived on. That's not survival.  
  
He just left me here. He didn't say goodbye. He didn't say anything. He just left.  
  
I want to miss him. I want to mourn him, I want to be with him again, but it can't happen, and I understand that now. He's not ready.  
  
Strange to think that he's that much older than me, and I'm ready first. Strange that he wouldn't make himself ready, for me, even if it hurt him to do it. He would have, before.  
  
But things are so different now. I don't think he believes me anymore. I don't think he believes in me anymore. Why is that? What did I ever do that would hurt him so badly? I know I never meant to. I know I hurt him, anyway, but he never begrudged me my faults before.  
  
He's changed. I knew he would, I knew it in my heart, and a part of me prayed for it. I didn't want him to move away from me, but I always knew that he would, and I guess it was okay. I want him to have *his* normal life. I think maybe he always did, too. Sometimes I wonder if that was the real reason he left me. I never really doubted that he loved me, but I sometimes wonder if he was afraid of my death. I sometimes wonder if he was afraid of what he would do if I died. I think he didn't want to have to make the decision. I think he always knew that I would never have a normal life. I think his 'normal life' routine was always more about him. He wanted a normal life, away from me, away from the slaying, away from the creepy supernatural world that we would always live in whether he accepted it or not.  
  
But I don't want to believe that. Because if it's true, if he left me because of him… Angel was never selfish. He always put me first. He loved me more than he loved himself… and he loved *us* even more than he loved me. He had to. Because if he didn't, then it was all a waste.  
  
  
  
I'm not sad. It doesn't hurt anymore. That's always the point when I know it's the end. It hurt, before, when I felt my body flying through the air. The little cuts, the little sores all over, the burns that stung and smoldered.  
  
I know it will hurt him. That, more than anything else, is what hurts me.  
  
He's holding me now, and he's crying. I've never seen him cry before. Tears, streaming from his eyes; I always wondered if a vampire's tears would have blood in them. It was like that, in the movies, in all the folklore, but it isn't true. Not for my Angel. He's crying because of me, and I've never seen him look more human.  
  
I want to tell him everything. I want him to feel everything that I feel. I want him to know that there's no pain anymore. Not now. Not ever again.  
  
It was killing me slowly, this existence. I lost them all. First Angel, and then my mother, then Willow… somewhere along the line, I think I lost myself. Completely. And so now I'm okay with this, this… I'm okay with it, but I can't say it. That makes no sense, and I know it.  
  
But it doesn't matter anymore. None of it. I just want him to know, before I'm gone. I want him to know that I had the normal life he always wanted for me – I had it when I was with him so many years ago. I got a taste of Heaven on Earth, and it was because of him. I want him to know that I understand joy, and that I won't forget it, and I want him to know that I don't want him to forget it either.  
  
"Angel…," I begin, but my voice is weak, choked, it won't work the way that I want it to. It's frustrating, this conflict. It's my body. It can't fail me now! Give me five more minutes, I plead, with whoever is listening.  
  
"Angel," I begin again, and it's more of a gasp than a word, but I have to tell him. I can't go without telling him!  
  
"Shhh," he whispers, even through his own tears. He's cradling me closer, and I love the feeling of his body wrapped around mine, but I have to tell him. I have to tell him!  
  
"No, I…" This is it. This is the end. He has to know.  
  
I can feel my energy draining from my body with my blood. It doesn't hurt, it just feels… strange. I should know this feeling, I've done it twice before now. Oh God…  
  
"Angel… don't… *don't* let them," NO! This is so frustrating! I want to scream. I HAVE TO TELL HIM! "…bring me b-back," I finally finish, but it was a struggle, and the energy is gone.  
  
"Buffy, n-no," he says, kissing my forehead. "Rest now. I'll take care of them."  
  
"I… Angel, I…" Oh… 


End file.
